


The Abandoned Theatre

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Character Death, Drama, Gen, Series Spoilers, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell looked a lot like Hope's Peak. Or what had been left of it after the mutual killing game, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Abandoned Theatre

Hell looked a lot like Hope’s Peak. Or what had been left of it after the mutual killing game, at least.

He walked down the empty darkened hallways, bare feet making no noise on the tile. Bitingly cold shadows curled around and clung to thin ankles, never pulling hard enough to trip him, but enough to always make themselves known. He came to one of the stairways, and the blackness below him reached up as if to eat him before drawing back as he took his first step down. Unidentifiable -unmentionable- substances dripped from the walls around him.

He paid no mind, neither to them, nor to where he was going.

It wasn’t like he really had anywhere in particular to be, and wasn't in any hurry to be there.

Rustling, wordless whispers surrounded him with every step, but they never had a visible source. Occasionally, he heard soft beeping; the sounds of the monitors that had once surrounded his bed now trailed after him through the darkness. They weren’t important either. That was over and done with.

Nothing was really important here. Not anymore.

Past destroyed rooms and across blood-spattered floors, eventually his aimless wandering brought him to the ghostly recreation of the gym, where he was a little startled to actually feel a presence. No other ghosts had haunted the dozens of halls he'd walked, so...

Then the fog of shadows cleared enough that he could see who it was, and he was no longer surprised at all.

She was hunched over on the gym floor, still in her borrowed costume. Blood continued to drip and vanish from black holes through her body and out of her mouth, but the spears that had created the wounds were long gone. And even with her head bowed, he could see the silvery, near-invisible stitches over her mouth.

The same as the ones he wore; the mark of the worthless and unmourned. The ones whose voices no one wanted to hear anymore.

He didn't know how he knew that. Maybe this place wanted him to know; a constant reminder that he'd failed at making anything useful of his pathetic life.

It was likely.

When she sensed him in return, she snapped out of her stupor and raised her head, and though there had been no mirrors in the halls, he knew what she was seeing as her eyes raked over him. A sack of bones with pale skin and a hospital uniform barely stretched over them, bruised and bloodshot eyes, limp hair, and a bandaged, useless stump of an arm.

She frowned as she scrutinized him, then, strangely, her expression softened. She could see his stitches too, he realized. 

They remained there, awkward and uncomfortable and silent as he swayed unsteadily on his feet and she knelt on the floor. Then she blew a soft sigh through her nose and offered a hand. He blinked at it, bemused, but accepted with the only one he had and let her pull him down to sit as well. And as she slid the wig from her hair and leaned forward to rest her head exhaustedly against his shoulder, he began to understand what she meant.

An overwhelming tiredness sank through every inch of him, and he made a sigh of his own before he bowed his head to mimic the gesture, forehead touching her hair as the tension in his body eased. Her hands came to rest on his sides, just barely clenching in the hospital gown, and he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders before closing his eyes.

The fog closed around them again, sealing them in the gym with the blood and rot and sickness and phantom monitor beeps. Already, he could feel the ice cold of the shadow tendrils almost playfully tugging at his hair and clothes again.

But it was okay.

After all.

At least now they each had company to kill silent eternity with, rather than the loneliness they'd been sentenced to.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a thought of a 'bad end', where none of the island kids were ever able to make peace with Komaeda and he died alone in Foundation custody. This was the result.


End file.
